The brand is on thy brow,
A dark and guilty spot;
'Tis ne'er to be erased!
'Tis ne'er to be forgot!

The brand is on thy brow!
Yet I must shade the spot:
For who will love thee now,
If I love thee not?

Thy soul is dark, — is stained; —
From out the bright world thrown;
By God and man disdained,
But not by me, — thy own!

Oh! even the tiger slain
Hath one who ne'er doth flee,
Who soothes his dying pain!
— That one am I to thee!